


HM Kraken Hotspur

by sanguinity



Series: His Majesty's Kraken [1]
Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kraken, First Meetings, Flirting, Other, Seasick at Spithead, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 13:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17684366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: For Hornblower and Hotspur, it's love at first sight.





	HM Kraken Hotspur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chantefable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/gifts).



> Chantefable, you had such wonderful prompts! It was a pleasure to be assigned to you. 
> 
> Copious thanks to my betas, ColebaltBlue and grrlpup!

She was a young ship, only a sloop of war and with a good many of her growing pains still ahead of her, but she was handsome indeed; Bush thought he would say that even if _Hotspur_ had not been his deliverance from half-pay and weeding his sisters' garden. She showed fine spirit, too, restively surging about her anchors, in contrast to the staid two- and three-deckers also waiting at Spithead to be commissioned for sea. 

"Congratulations again, sir," Bush said as he handed the glass back to Hornblower, who immediately returned it to his eye, thirsty for information about his new command. "She's a beautiful ship."

Hornblower's smile was as pleased and abashed as a new bridegroom's. "She'll need a steady hand," he warned, but his words did nothing to hide his nascent pride in her.

 _Already in love,_ Bush thought, indulgent with his superior years and longer experience at sea, and perhaps discounting the smitten pleasure he too might feel, were he ever to be blessed by the Lords of Admiralty with a command of his own. "Shall we, sir?" he asked, and at Hornblower's nod, stood back for his captain to lead the way down to the waiting tender.

They had crossed half the anchorage when _Hotspur_ quieted down, no longer amusing herself with her anchors. _Watching us,_ Bush thought, and indeed, when they were just beyond hailing distance of the deck, a questing arm lifted from the sea to examine the boat and its occupants. Out of the corner of his eye, Bush saw Hornblower lean over the transom to trail a hand in the water in an attempt to lure the tentacle back to where he sat, but it had already chosen its target.

"Oi, get off!" one of the oars-women scolded when the tip touched her shoulder; she slapped her oar-blade flat on the water in rebuke. 

"Belay that!" Hornblower ordered, but _Hotspur_ was already taking action of her own: the tentacle darkened, and from just off the boat's beam, the oars-woman was caught in the ear with a precisely aimed jet of water. Bush laughed: he liked his women saucy, and that was no less true in ships than in humans.

The woman swore, foul-mouthed as any man. "Always touching, that one," she complained, mopping the side of her face with her shawl.

"Doesn't mind her manners like the proper ships," her partner agreed.

"Heed what you're doing, and never mind the ship," Hornblower scolded. "She's not for the likes of you to criticise." The oars-women turned sulky looks on him, but put their backs into the oars again.

The tentacle had moved on to Bush. He reached out to meet it, stroking its cool, silken length; it mellowed to a lovely mauve and briefly twined his arm in response. "Hello, beautiful," he murmured as the questing tip ran up his arm to his shoulder, tasting his insignia, which he had freshened for just this occasion: he had wanted there to be no doubt in _Hotspur's_ mind that he was her lieutenant. Then the tentacle moved on, leaving him reaching wistfully after it.

"What boat?" hailed a petty officer from the deck.

"Hotspur!" one of the women called back, signifying by ages-old convention that the _Hotspur's_ captain was on board.

Perhaps _Hotspur_ heard and understood — or perhaps she had already tasted the commander's insignia at Hornblower's wrists and shoulder — but she lingered over her inspection of her appointed counterpart as she had not with Bush, plucking at Hornblower's sleeve and thinning the delicate tip of her tentacle to thread inside his cuff to taste his skin. Bush felt the sudden lurch of the boat under him when _Hotspur_ gripped Hornblower's arm and gave a playful tug; he hastened to reach for Hornblower's other arm, lest _Hotspur_ should have him overboard. It was a meaningless gesture on Bush's part; if _Hotspur_ wanted Hornblower in the water with her, Bush could do nothing to stop it, and in fact he would more likely be dragged overboard after his captain for his trouble. But _Hotspur_ was only in gay spirits, desiring acknowledgement more than mischief, and Hornblower obliged, indulging her with caresses and praise even as he deflected her more forward advances. 

Bush felt a surprising knot of envy in his breast. He had served on unhappy ships, ones who felt no sympathy with their captains, and knew well the pervasive contagion of a ship's misery; in the worst cases, the ill-feeling would spread to the hands as the ship became difficult, or even dangerous, to work. He was a good lieutenant, and in the best Naval tradition had loved well every ship he served; to see the _Hotspur_ and her new captain off to such an auspicious beginning pleased the sailor in him. And yet he could still watch his friend bent over that curious, lively arm, and find himself yearning with sick envy for his own affection for a ship to be returned. 

The boat bumped against _Hotspur's_ hull, and with one last caress, Hornblower stood and turned his attention to the jump for the entry-port ladder. _Hotspur_ seemed to wait, docile, but at the moment of the leap snatched Hornblower’s hat from his head. In his surprise, Hornblower grabbed for his hat instead of the ladder, and the mistake nearly put him in the drink. Both women laughed raucously; no scolding from Bush would silence them. Hornblower clung indecorously to the ship's side, one foot in the water, while _Hotspur_ hovered with his hat just beyond his or Bush's reach. 

Bush half-expected a storm of invective — he could not imagine Sawyer or Cogshill taking such a prank well — but Hornblower only climbed a few rungs until his feet were safe from the lapping water. He reached out to gently thump the hull, hard enough for _Hotspur_ to feel through her relatively insensitive oak, but soft enough not to offend. From his vantage point below, Bush could not make out what Hornblower said to the ship, but Hornblower continued to stroke the ship as he talked quietly. A long minute passed — Bush had to silence the women again — but _Hotspur_ duly presented Hornblower with his hat, and when he didn't take it immediately, tried to push it upon him bodily, threatening to crush the cocked felt or dislodge him from the ladder in her enthusiasm. With extreme dignity, Hornblower took the hat and thanked her, then jammed it securely on his head. _Hotspur's_ freeboard was so short that he had scarcely begun climbing before the bosun's whistle shrilled its first notes; surely the bosun and likely half the men had witnessed the little drama. Bush shook his head in admiration: it would only be to Hornblower's credit among the men if they saw he could sweet-talk a ship.

Bush paid the boat-women, and made his own climb to the deck unharassed.

There was only an anchor watch and the first of the petty officers aboard; Hornblower ordered everyone assembled to witness him reading himself in. Another tentacle, this one originating in the waist, descended to make its own inspection of the new captain, while two more hovered attentively nearby.

"Orders from the Honorable William Cornwallis, Rear-Admiral of the Blue and Commander of the Channel Fleet," Hornblower began as _Hotspur,_ oblivious to the dignity of the rite, began nosing about his face and neck. "To Commander Horatio Hornblower. You are hereby requested and required…"

Bush watched in fascination as the tentacle slowly descended to loop, cable-thick, around Hornblower's waist. Hornblower blushed violently but continued to read, clutching at it with his free arm as it pulled him slightly off his feet. Bush heard a titter go up among the assembled men and he bellowed for their silence, catching the eyes, one after another, of the worst offenders.

"...command of HMK _Hotspur,_ " Hornblower finished, and folded up the piece of paper. In the eyes of the Navy and the law, _Hotspur_ was now his. Judging from her behaviour, however, Bush rather thought that in _Hotspur's_ eyes, the ownership went the other way around.

Hornblower dismissed the men back to their previous duties, then patted the arm twined around his waist once, twice. _Hotspur_ only snugged him more securely, like a favoured toy. Emotions chased one after another across Hornblower’s face: embarrassment, pleasure, the determined pretense that he had himself chosen to stand there wrapped in _Hotspur's_ coil. Bush smiled, oblivious to the hypocrisy of scolding the men for the same just moments before. 

"With your leave, sir, I'd like to inspect the ship before the first lighters arrive." The petty officers would have their own reports to make, but Bush wished to make his own judgements; it was ultimately he who was responsible to his captain for the readiness of the ship.

"Very good, Mr Bush," Hornblower said. 

Under their feet, _Hotspur_ gave a leap, and then a shiver and wriggle as she snubbed up against her anchor cable. Bush rode it out easily, but Hornblower went a little green.

"There now," Hornblower said, turning to where _Hotspur's_ arm soared up into the rigging and patting it with a barely disguised urgency, "Let's find you a better game, shall we?"

With a smirk, Bush left him to his ship's embrace.


End file.
